It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Murder
by SmokeyTV
Summary: Nick and Brass investigate the case of a Christmas party that ends in tragedy for one family.


It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Murder

**This story was written for the Christmas Nick Fic Song Challenge at Talk CSI. The song this time was "Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer", word limit of 2,500. This tale also uses characters from the "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer" TV special. Enjoy! **

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"I didn't even know the lady! Kids are my business! Kids, I tell you!"

Brass looked at the currently not-so-jolly old man sitting across the table from him. The man was wiping the sweat from his brow with a red velvet sleeve. One drop, however, still ran down the middle of his nose, curving over the round, red tip and dropping onto the table.

The man shook his head, removing his hat and running a hand through his long, curly, white hair, then rubbing the soft white whiskers that unfurled from his chin. "This is a mistake!"

"A mistake?" Brass asked with a wry smile. "Oh yes, there's been a mistake, sir, and you're the one who made it. You say kids are your business, not old ladies?" He leaned across the table, close to the man's face. "In my book, where there are kids, there are grandmas." He sat back in his chair, watching the man squirm. "What happened? Grandma cutting into your business? The kids are liking those crisp hundred dollar bills and Wal-Mart gift cards better than the cheesy Tinker Toys you bring 'em?"

"Cheesy Tinker….?!!" The old man had had enough. He sat up straight, nearly coming out of his chair as he pointed a finger at the captain. "Don't you talk to me like that, Jimmy Brass! As I recall, you liked those Tinker Toys pretty well back in 1957! Well enough to whisper in my ear so your dad wouldn't hear you ask for them because you knew he didn't want you leaving them all over the house like you did with your Lincoln Logs!"

From the corner of the room, Nick snickered, covering his mouth with his hand. The old man turned on him next.

"What are you laughing at, Nicky Stokes? _You_ wouldn't even sit on my lap! Big boy like you, hiding behind your mama's skirt while your sister climbed right up."

Nick cleared his throat and looked down, embarrassed.

"It didn't matter though, did it? Christmas morning, there was that Hot Wheels race track under the tree anyway. And not the cheap one that just made a circle either! The deluxe kind with the ramps and loops and a pit station!"

Nick looked up sheepishly.

"You're _welcome_," the man said pointedly.

Nick cleared his throat again. "Thank you, Santa," he said quietly.

The old man leaned back in his chair. "Somebody set me up, kid. Get out there and find 'em."

* * *

Nick ducked under the yellow tape and surveyed the scene. Dawn was approaching…a beautiful sunrise on Christmas morning. In the early light, it was easier to make out the gruesome scene in front of him. Bloodstained snow still showed the imprint of the old lady's body. Hoof prints dotted the area, and although the sleigh had been towed back to the garage for processing, the tracks marked the path of destruction. Nick crouched down and looked up at the house down the street. Santa claimed he had left the reindeer and sleigh on the roof and gone down the chimney. When he came back out, the sleigh was half a block away and Grandma was dead.

Nick stood up and walked around the sleigh tracks. There were so many footprints around, including those of Santa's big boots, that it was impossible to tell if he had been the one driving the sleigh and getting out rather than just running up to it after the fact. He sighed heavily and shaded his eyes with a hand as he scanned the surrounding area. A dog barking behind a nearby house drew his attention, and looking that way something caught his eye. He walked over and got out his camera, snapping pictures of the odd sight on the ground.

There among the scattered footprints and paw prints of the house's front yard were several square prints, measuring about 6 inches by 6 inches. Looking back at the scene, he could now make out a few of these strange prints in the mix there as well. He followed them as far as he could across the yard, but the shoveled and trampled snow of the driveway had destroyed any additional tracks. A dead end.

But as Nick turned to leave, he saw the bright sun reflecting off of something partially buried in the snow. It was a small, single, jingle bell. He put on a glove and pulled the object out, holding it up in front of him. "What the hell?" The bell was attached to the top of a tiny red and green checkered hat.

* * *

"Hey, Henry! Got those results?"

"Yeah," the toxicology tech answered Nick. "She had high levels of eggnog in her, but nothing else. Grandma's clean."

"Thanks, Henry," said Nick as he continued down the hallway. He peered into the print lab. "Mandy? Anything?"

"Nope," she sighed. "Just smudges on the reins, because you know…the guy _does_ wear gloves. I did find some very small marks that _could_ be prints, but of what, I don't know. They're too small to make anything out."

"Thanks anyway," said Nick as he moved on. "Warrick! Tell me you got something off the sleigh."

Warrick wiped his hands on his coveralls. "No malfunctions that I can see. The only weird thing…the seat was pushed up pretty far. No _way_ that round belly like a bowl full of jelly would fit if Santa was driving."

"Really??" said Nick with raised eyebrows. "Interesting. Thanks, man!" He clapped Warrick on the shoulder as he walked away, then paused as his cell phone rang. He looked at the display and answered, "Hey, Jim, what's up?"

"I've got somebody down here at the station that you might want to talk to…could have something to do with the Clause case."

"I'll be right there," said Nick.

* * *

The small, polka-dotted elephant sat in a chair in the LVPD lobby, occasionally wiping a tear away with a wadded up Kleenex.

"_What_ is _that_?" Nick asked Brass, looking through the door of the room.

"Misfit Toy," answered the captain. "Says one of his buddies is missing."

"How does this relate to our case?"

"Seems ol' Spot there was on the sleigh that night. Says Santa picked him and a bunch of other Misfit Toys up off their island on Christmas Eve to deliver to some kids. He and his friend were going to the same house, but his friend never made it there."

Nick and Brass walked into the room and sat across from the little elephant. "So, uh…Spot, is it?" began Nick. "When's the last time you saw your friend?"

The elephant wiped away another tear and said, "In the bag, right after Santa picked us up. It was a little crowded in there, and I lost track of him. But I was going to Susie Johnson and he was going to her brother, Billy. I thought I'd see him there. I made it, but Charlie never showed up."

"Charlie?"

"My friend…Charlie in the Box. You know, he always felt like the biggest misfit of all, but everyone loved Charlie. Billy…Billy would have loved him too!" The elephant burst into tears.

Brass handed another Kleenex to the distraught toy who thanked him and then used it to loudly blow his trunk. Brass excused himself as his cell phone rang, stepping away to answer it.

Nick thought about the odd, square prints in the snow and the hat he had found. "Can you describe your friend for me?"

"Yes…well," replied the elephant. "He's about 6 inches tall…when he's closed, that is. But when he jumps out he's about twice that. He has a green and red shirt on and a very jaunty green and red hat."

"Checkered? With a bell on it?" asked Nick.

"Yes! A jingle bell! You've seen him?"

"Welll…noooo…" Nick started but was interrupted as Brass came back over, looking grim.

Brass sighed. "The body of Charlie in the Box was just found on Maple Avenue, two blocks from our crime scene."

"Noooooo!" cried the elephant, and he then wept pitifully into the Kleenex.

"I'm sorry," said Brass. "But it's him…6 inches square, green and red shirt, black top hat."

The elephant's head jerked up. "T…t…top…hat?" he asked, clearly frightened.

"Yeah."

"B…bl…black…top hat? Not a green and red jingle bell hat?"

"No," said Brass. "Why?"

The elephant shook his head, eyes wide. "It can't be! It's not possible! He was never supposed to leave the island! He's the one Misfit Toy that no boy or girl should _ever_ lay eyes on!"

Nick and Brass looked at each other. "Who?" asked Nick.

The elephant swallowed hard before answering. "Jack. Jack the Ripper in the Box!"

* * *

"The bastard switched hats."

"Yeah," Nick agreed with Brass as they drove back to the crime scene. "He stowed away in Santa's bag, killed Charlie and dumped his body at one of the stops, and switched hats so no one would notice him."

"And when the time was right and Santa was down a chimney, he climbed out, pushed the seat up so he could reach the reins, and drove the sleigh off the roof," said Brass.

"And right over Grandma," finished Nick as they pulled up to the scene.

Both men got out of the car and looked around. The snow had begun to melt, and bare patches of mud stood out where evidence had once appeared. Nick walked across the yard and crouched down, looking back at Brass. "Here's where I found the hat."

"Okay, so from here Jack hopped to where you are," said Brass as he walked from the crime scene to where Nick crouched. "Then what?" he asked as he scanned the area. A dog barked in the distance.

"I don't know," Nick sighed. "Little guy like that…he could hide anywhere." He turned toward the sound of the dog as it barked louder. "Man, does that dog ever quiet down? He was yapping the _last_ time I was…" He stopped short and looked up at Brass. "Come on," he said as he stood up and followed the sound.

Brass radioed for backup as the two men walked between the houses. Behind one house, in a neat yard full of garden gnomes and stone paths, there was the dog, a beautiful black Labrador, barking furiously and circling his doghouse which was handcrafted to look just like his owner's house.

"Aw," said Nick. "Hey, fella…what's the matter?"

The dog looked at the men and whined, then bounded over to Nick, tail wagging and tongue hanging out. Nick bent down and rubbed the dog's head with one hand and his back with the other. "What's going on, guy?"

The dog whined again and ran back to his house, then barked loudly at it. He stopped and looked at Nick, then barked again.

"Come here, boy…come here," Nick encouraged, and the dog ran over and hid behind Nick as he drew his weapon and slowly advanced on the doghouse. He reached it and stood to one side, bending over and grasping the curtain that hung over the entrance.

"Careful, Nicky," Brass cautioned as he circled in the opposite direction, gun in hand.

Nick pulled the curtain back toward him and leaned over slowly to peer inside. Suddenly he jumped back, aiming his weapon into the dog's dark abode. "Police! Get out! Get out now! Hands where I can see them!"

Brass and Nick looked on as from out of the darkness they heard a thump followed by the tinny, musical notes of "Pop Goes the Weasel". Another thump. More music. Thump. Music. They could now just make out the square base of the box, something rising from it, swaying eerily from side to side. Suddenly, there he was, out in the light of day! Another thump, this time the joyful music of a children's song replaced by screeching "Psycho" violins as the maniacal Jack the Ripper in the Box swayed in the breeze, laughing and grinning, his teeth gleaming and his black cape flowing.

"On the ground! Get on the ground!" Nick shouted and he edged forward, nudging the box with his foot. The toy toppled over, furiously and angrily struggling to right itself, but to no avail.

The backup had arrived, and the uniformed officers moved in, one of them quickly apprehending the raging toy and lifting it by its crank. Jack spewed obscenities at the men as he was held up for all to see.

"Jack the Ripper in a Box," said Brass, "you're under arrest for the murders of Grandma and Charlie in the Box. Get him outta here." The toy was still spouting curse words and flailing as the officers took him away. "Hang on," said Brass. He went over and grabbed Jack by the head. "You have the right to remain silent," he said and then pushed Jack back into the box, closing the lid on top of him.

* * *

Brass set three glasses on his desk and opened the bottle of scotch. He filled the glasses and then eased down into his chair with a sigh.

Nick and Santa each took a glass. "We're sorry we doubted you, Santa," said Nick.

"Happens all the time, Nicky," said Santa. "Don't worry about it. I'm just glad you caught that rogue Misfit before he could hurt anyone else."

"You won't have to worry about him anymore," said Brass. "He's been sent back to the island…this time for good. And we had his crank removed, just for good measure." He winked.

The three men laughed and raised their glasses. "Merry Christmas, boys," said Santa as they clinked the glasses together.

"Merry Christmas, Santa," Nick and Brass said in unison.

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**This was so much fun to write! Actually, it's the easiest time I've ever had with a "case" story. LOL! The humor threw me tho...I've never tried to write anything CSI related and humorous, and I wasn't really sure how to go about doing it. I think it turned out pretty good tho. :-) Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed it! Drop a review and let me know what you think!**


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